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originally posted by: Reverbs
a reply to: shinethelight
[...] though one of my brothers who experienced a lot of the same as me just runs from it at all costs causing himself some cognitive dissonance..
originally posted by: ringdingdong
Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
The trick is to realize there's nothing to run from only to accept your own demons and overactive imagination.
Guess some people have more luck with that than others.
originally posted by: shinethelight
Most people have a tipping point in life that makes them come to the conclusion that there is more out there than what our eyes can behold. Either you believe by just 'hearsay', or you have an experience that tips the pot. I will share mine, I hope to hear from others...
My first spiritual (most precious experience) was when I was about 5. My mom had taught me how to pray. I asked her, 'how do you do that?' She said, "It's like talking to God'. So she closed the door, I bowed my knees and prayed. Nothing happened, at least I thought.
Maybe a couple weeks later I saw Jesus 'appear' in my room. There was no fear, and I couldn't figure out how he got in my room, and I honestly didn't know He was the Son of God. I just saw how majestic He was and awesome. Then He disappeared. I later figured out who He was, by my grandparents probably hanging up Catholic pictures of Jesus and Mary.
From then until about 7 I thought there was only angels that watched over us, but really no such things as 'ghosts'.
Until my dad moved us to Mexico. My mom had passed away, I didn't know how to speak Spanish, and my dad would drive us back and forth across the Tijuana border everyday just to go to an English speaking school! As if that wasn't enough, there was something terribly bad with this house.
Because I convinced myself there were no ghosts, time after time, event after event, I would find logical explanations to explain everything. I believe that's partly how I kept from freaking out from all the chaos that would ensue.
The story behind the house:
My dad's sister owned the house. At the time the house was being built a security guard was put there to guard the materials. Supposedly the mexican mofia had robbed someone and were counting the money next to the building materials, when they saw the security guard had seen them, they cut his head off. Part of his body was thrown into the street. And the other part built into the house. My dad's sister rented it to us without telling us this.
Me and my sister shared a room, after cleaning the room and going out to play with my sister my dad would scream at us for not 'cleaning the room'. It looked like someone flipped the toy box upside down! There were times our shoes would go missing. While playing in a field across the street, we found our missing shoes. What the heck?
My dog, a sweet black lab that loved almost everyone. Would run up to our windows and growl and bark, his hair would stand up and we couldn't see anything. We would hear footsteps up and down our staircase in the middle of the night. We heard dishes rattling when no one was in the kitchen. We would see cats that would just 'disappear'. One time the heater cord was severed and it started shaking, almost caught fire. The tv would change to Spanish channels by itself. It was one of the ones you have to turn the knob.
Yes, I explained it all away. Then, it was Christmas, family had come for a week and left after a day, wouldn't tell us why. My dad brought a priest to bless the house and didn't tell us why, just go far away to play....
We moved right after
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